Some Tales were Meant to be Written
by YamiJessi
Summary: Pippin thinks back over old Bilbo's tales and ponders the meaning to them. Set during RotK


Title: Some Tales were Meant to be Written  
Series: LotR

Storyline: One Shot

Characters: Pippin, mention of others  
Pairing: None really mentioned  
Rating: PG  
Summary: Pippin still has that youthful streak within him, and he still remembers old Bilbo's tales and what they meant.

AN: I don't own the characters, big surprise there, eh?

Some tales were meant to be written, some sung, but all were to be remembered, for that was the nature of a story, to live within itself. He remembered many of each sort, the song and verse, the words scrolled upon parchment as well. And many a night had he spent seated along side his older cousins, listening with bright eyes as old Bilbo spun another world with words. Then it had been so easy to shut one's eyes and see in vivid hues the brave battles and the sun-lit roads the heroes passed through. It was the manner of story that gave a youngster a surge of pride for himself and those brave warriors that each of them were sure that they would become when they finally grew up. And of course those heroes always won the battle, for they were put into being to show all little Hobbits that good always is the victor and evil only is strong long enough to be beaten. Every young Hobbit knew this, and it was the sort of carefree understanding of the world that grew with one as age fell over them. So little Hobbits with wide eyes grew into sensible older Hobbits with steady faith in the powers of all that was great and good. They were such lovely stories, but now he knew they were simply that. Words, and perhaps nothing more.

The real world was nothing like the one he had heard of, and heroes were such easily swayed creatures it did seem. It was a rapid change for his mind to comprehend, to think that the shimmering gold and silver paths walked in those tales were truly just sickly pale in real pallor, broken and empty. Evil did not need be some monstrous dragon with talons sharp and eyes of burning fire, no, pure evil could be such a simple and beautiful form. A band of metal, a voice in one's ear, a loss of hope and the clatter of swords upon shields, these were the evils he knew now. And what a lesson to learn, what a deep wound to the soul. It hurt more than any scrap or cut he had received during their journey, it would not heal. And how could it heal? Alone in a world he knew nothing about, a bright-eyed Hobbit was little more than a small creature to be overlooked or trampled upon in haste to battle. And from a world that was all tailored to the whims of a carefree mind into a place that was bleeding darkness and crying in pain amid the deepest of ebon nights there seemed no real world anymore.

He had to wonder, while ever curious eyes trailed over the streets below littered with the motions of the big folk readying themselves for battle, if this too was nothing more than some tale being told to the young ones like he had been so long ago. He almost hoped it was, for that would have meant that there was a lesson to it, a reason, because all tales had a purpose behind them or else there would be no point in sharing them. And if that were true, then what great lesson could there be to learn in this story? And who would remember them, the players in this battle of all or nothing, of lost hopes and tattered dreams? Who could have possibly wished to hear of such dark days, no matter how bright the outcome? He was fairly certain that when he had been a young one he would have perhaps cried to hear such a tale, even before he knew the true reasons behind those tears.

He thought to himself of the others, were they but characters of another design as well? He almost took heart in that, because if it were true then it meant that all the death and pain was simply not real. Somewhere out in that great big world Boromir was still a proud warrior, there were no foul orcs, and there would forever more be peace in Middle-earth. It was a great comfort really, because he did not have to think of the real world, lost as he was to this idea. He did not have to dwell over the missing friends still out to battle so far from him, of his cousins probably already silent and lying still in some forgotten place, or of the lands that he knew were burning and falling under darkness. There was no loss of the fair Elves, no struggles against the evil born in deepest flames, it was all just a story spun by someone with a spark of thought.

If it were all just some story crafted, what would his part to play within it be? The foolish one, of course, as was always said of him. But perhaps not so foolish as all thought, just a bit more a child still within his eyes than the others, because childhood still was spread before him not so very long ago. So if his part was to play that of the fool, then what of the others? Heroes, that he was certain of, all the others. And a small being, a Hobbit like himself, would become the greatest hero of them all. For tales always ended in that way, the most unlikely of beings were always the ones to save the day and bring the light back into the world. So if that were true then he would see Frodo and Sam once more, it was only fair after all, being that it was just a story. And even the most foolish of Hobbits knew that stories always had a happy ending. The shadows would fall away and the world would be forever changed, but it would still be happy. Because that was the true point behind a good story after all, to see the world in a new way, to understand what was important behind it all. One learned that even amid the impossible there was hope, and sacrifice was all with purpose.

So what sacrifices still lay ahead for them then, what turn in the path was still waiting? Would it be a moment of joy, or utter sorrow? He knew that if were a tale then it would be the kind that had a great deal to teach, and those were always the saddest sort. Those were the ones that meant something though, the ones never to be forgotten, because they meant something different to each person. Above all else though it meant change and seeing that life goes on, ever different, but always onward after the sunrise. He puzzled over what it all meant, who was supposed to learn this lesson. Surely this tale was one that was not crafted by Hobbits, it was too dark and lonely, no, perhaps then by Men or one of the other races. Regardless, he could feel its meaning deep inside, and it gave him a sort of courage.

And when he lay his head down against the stones of that wall before him, hair falling in curled waves against gray rock like a wave of liquid silk, he wished with all his heart that that fantasy was real. Yet he knew it was not, he could feel the heavy pull in his body, the tired weight of his shoulders, and above all the weary throb in his heart. There was nothing of fantasy and scrolls here, only battles when the morning light lifted once again. And one lonely little Hobbit caught up in the great big world of Men and Wizards, of darkness and light, so far from home and fighting to return there. That was all too real and he knew it, and his happy ending was not yet in sight. So with the morning's coming he would lift his sword, small as it was, and face down the next onslaught of shadow not knowing if it would be his last. He had to ponder though just how this tale would have ended if it had been written by his own hand, surely not so dark as he somehow knew it must. If it were but a story he would have closed his eyes then and there, ended his chapter within it, but something so large and important could not have been anything but real. And while he longed for those fairy-tale endings of his childhood he took heart in knowing that this adventure would be a thousand times more meaningful. It was just easier to forget for a moment and to lose oneself to the fantasy. And though he knew it to be no simple tale, he still hoped with that same childish desire that after all was said and done there would still be heart enough left in this world to make it seem as such.


End file.
